


The Toss of a Coin

by Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone



Category: Final Destination (Movies), Original Work
Genre: Bullying, Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Light Angst, Minor Violence, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23714734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone/pseuds/Lady_of_Glass_and_Bone
Summary: You meet Death one night and gain a glimpse behind the veil of the world as you see it. It's an experience you're determined to never forget and hopefully repeat.AKA This Author Sucks At Summary's.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. Part 1: Meeting Place

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a request over on Tumblr and spiraled out of control into a multiple part thing. I have no explanations or apologies. I couldn't find a tag for Death/reader that fit and I'm >:(

You remember finding a baby bird at the base of a tree one day and scooping it up into your hands as gently as you could. You imagined nursing it back to health, watching it grow and hopefully releasing it out into the open sky once it was ready.

You kept the fragile little thing hidden from your mom, feeding it mushed up worms you had dug around in a neighbor’s flower bed for. 

It had died three days later in the tiny shoe box you’d stuffed with tissues to keep it safe.

After days of knowing with the absolute certainty only a child could posses that the tiny, chirping thing you had found would live, finding it lifeless had shattered the fantasy of ever seeing it fly. It’s thin, translucent skin and featherless wings laid motionless and you felt dumb, for hoping, for even trying.

You put it back at the tree where you found it and covered it with grass torn up from the ground because you couldn’t bear to put it in the dirt. You had known you would think about it at night, buried in the dank earth with the bugs eating away at it. It gnawed at you regardless.

You couldn’t sleep. So you slipped out of bed and into the backyard, searching in the dark with a tiny key chain flashlight until you came to the tree where you laid it to rest. But the little mound of grass was strewn about, pilfered. The baby birds body was gone. Something probably smelled a free meal and took the opportunity.

And at 10 years old, you had finally become acquainted with death.

People died and got buried. Animals died and got snatched away for food. Why hadn’t you just buried the stupid thing?

You could feel the tears that had been building begin to drip down your cheeks.

“Why are you crying over such a small thing?” a voice, calm and inquisitive, startled you.

“What?” you turned around, shining the small beam of light around until it settled on a tall, dark figure. Tall enough that you had to tip your head all the way back in search of a face.

You didn't find one, just a hood that hid the source of the voice, the darkness concealing it impenetrable. 

“The hatchling you put here, it was dead, but you cry over it still. Why?” the voice was clear but not overpowering. The figure waved an arm swathed in black fabric toward the tree and then to your tear stained face.

“Because I’m sad that it’s gone.”

“All things go eventually,” the figure rebuffed, hood tilting to one side.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be sad about it! I wanted to. . .I tried to help it and it died anyway. It’s my fault.”

You looked down at your feet, thinking that maybe if you had told your mom, maybe she could have helped it. Anything would’ve been better than your sad attempt.

“No, it is not your fault.” The voice sounded more gentle.

“But I found it and-” 

“Yes, you found it, but it had already been pushed from the nest. It was sick and the mother knew.”

Your face scrunched up. You looked up into the black spot where a face should be.

“How do you know that?” 

“It is my job to know.”

“What’s your job?”

The figure doesn’t respond. Considering. You are young and the hooded figure doesn’t want to frighten you but then again, if he had wanted to avoid this whole situation, he simply could have moved on. But he had stopped, curious about the girl crying over a creature she couldn’t have saved no matter what.

“My job is complicated.” There, that was a safe answer.

“That’s what grown-ups say when they don’t really want to answer.”

Not a safe answer then. Damn. He sighs and decides he’s too old for this.

“I am Death. I watch over the things that die, help them along if they are confused, plan a few…things.” Best not to get too grisly.

The girl just stares at him. He waits for either the anger or the disbelief. Impressively, she surprised him.

“Did you watch over the bird? When it died?” You looked hopeful but felt childish for asking. What was a little bird to something as big as Death anyway.

But Death is perceptive, it comes with the territory.

“It was warm and not in pain, not a horrible way to go. Peaceful.”

“Oh. Okay.” You looked away toward the scattered pile of grass. It didn't make you feel so awful now, the idea of it’s body sitting out here waiting to be a meal.

“So where is it now? The bird?”

Death takes another pause. Why not. He had already given you his job description, what was a little peak behind the veil?

“I’ll show you, hold out your arm.” He tells you and tilts his head back, letting out a short, musical whistle.

As you stand still, arm out, something bright flutters out of the corner of your eye and before you can turn to look it’s right in front of you. Flapping it’s small, brown wings, a luminescent glow coming from inside it.

When the bird lands on your outstretched arm, head twisting this way and that, you know it’s your bird. All grown up, healthy. 

“It’s dead?” you look up at the figure, Death, and he hums.

Your skin is chilled where the bird sits comfortably on your arm, settling an eye on you. 

“She remembers you” Death says, leaning down and offering his own covered arm and the bird hops from you to him with a soft trill.

“Really?” You watch him straighten up, lifting the bird up to what you guessed was his eye level.

“Yes.”

And with that the bird takes off, lifting into the air with no struggle and glides off, the light of it fading the farther away it gets. You follow it until it winks out and when you turn back to ask one of the million questions you have, the tall figure is gone.

You treat that night like a treasured secret, wondering about all the things you can’t see that are dead but not gone. You draw a glowing bird every chance you get. You wonder what Death looks like.

Your mother thinks it’s morbid, all the books you read as you grow up, about the different depictions of death, about the afterlife, and she just scowls whenever you tell her you want to get a tattoo of the glowing bird you use to draw someday.

Though Death never came back, no matter how often you sat under that tree and just talked into the sky. Sometimes doubt would seep in and you would treat it as just a dream, your young minds way of dealing with something like death. Not that you lose any interest in learning as much as you can about it.

At school you’re the girl whose obsessed with death.

At home you’re the only child of a single mom who works two jobs.

At night you’re the only one who wonders if Death is lonely.  
  



	2. Part 2: Bridges and Bad Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Déjà vu [dazha- voo]  
> noun: a feeling of having already experienced the present situation. tedious familiarity.
> 
> The phrase translates literally as "already seen."

The Summer sun is hot, beating down on your back and bare shoulders, the humidity slogging you down on your walk home, not that you can find a reason to rush. No one was there to make sure you made it back alright anyway.

It was late April of your Senior year and your messenger bag was light with the coming end of your high school career, the dusty side of the country road scuffing beneath your shoes barely keeping your brain occupied. So you tried to recall the sight of the glowing bird. You would be 18 in a couple months and then you could get it forever etched onto your skin so it would never fade from your memory.

The sharp ping of metal bouncing against metal brought you out of your daydream and you realized you had reached the bridge. Glancing around your feet for what you had kicked, you spot a small gleam of silver and crouch down to study it.

A coin, maybe the size of a silver dollar sat before you, smeared with dust and grime but oddly no rust. All it would need was a decent wash to be as good as new. Grabbing it up to examine it closer you see it's not like any currency you've seen before. It looks modern made but the reliefs on it seem old. Like seeing a picture of an ancient artifact in your textbook.

One side boasted an image of a three-headed dog, though the details were vague, simple. Flipping it over you found a two-pronged fork with a snake wrapping itself around the handle, winding upwards. There were no words or numbers on either side, just the images. You flipped it back and forth, the sun catching and bouncing off the spots not hidden under dirt. It was warm from sitting out in the sun and the longer you held it, the more engrossed you became in the feel of it. Almost hypnotizing you.

The sound of your name being called brought you out of it, back to the heat making your head feel light and your legs heavy. Curling your fingers around the odd little find, you stand up, glancing around until you spot where the voice had come from.

Your town was what most would consider a quintessential 'small town' where everyone pretty much knew everyone and gossip got around as quick as the local stray dog chasing someones unfortunate chickens.

And most small towns also had a group of trouble makers, the kids who swore they'd get out one day and make it big, the ones who didn't have much to do but found plenty of trouble none-the-less. 

Sam, the girl the others in the group seemed to revolve around, was the one who had called out to you, sitting with a few others down at the riverside below the bridge. The rusted out shell of a car that had been there for as long as you had been alive serving as a perfect spot to gather.

You had never been on Sam's bad side, always looking the other way when she and her friends lit up under the bleachers, ignoring it when they picked on some poor soul who more than likely had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All to save your own skin. It had worked so far.  
But the way she was grinning up at you from the riverbank, half spent cigarette tucked between her slim fingers, told you there wasn't going to be a way to around this. Whatever it was.

"Hi Sam" you called down hesitantly, trying to keep from leaning on the hot metal guardrail of the bridge.

"Hey Birdie! Come on down here, I wanna talk to ya'!" her tone was cheerful and deceptive and the nickname just made it worse. You regretted for the millionth time ever telling anyone about your glowing bird.

"I can't really, I mean I would but-it's just that umm" no excuse would satisfy this crowd. They all knew you didn't have anyone waiting at home for you.

"Aww, c'mon Birdie! It's hot as shit out and we were gonna go swimming before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up" she takes one last pull of her cigarette before snuffing it out against the side of the car, eyes never leaving yours.

You could just say no, walk away without explanation and hope that none of them would take personal offense. That tomorrow at school they wouldn't corner you like you'd seen them do to so many others. Wishful thinking and all that.

By now you're gripping the coin so tight in your hand that it begins to dig into your palm. Looking up at the sky, you see clouds not to far off that were more than ready to burst with rain. It wouldn't be that long, even Sam knew not to mess around in a flooding river.

"Okay" you stuff the coin into the back pocket of your shorts and make your way down the sloping path to the river.

The air is stagnant with cigarette smoke when you finally push your way through the thick foliage and it clings to Sam's hair when she wraps an arm around you as soon as you appear.

"So, Birdie, I've been wanting to show you something" she says, leading you toward the rest of the group by the car.

There are five all together. Sam, Zach and Carter, twin boys that remind you of giant redwoods when they stood side-by-side, then Lily-Ann and Maya.

"I thought you guys were going swimming?" you keep the question light, hoping not to stir up anything. 

"We are, but first, I wanted to show something, kind of like a graduation present, because you never ratted us out or anything" Sam tugs you in closer, almost like a hug if her nails weren't digging into your arm.

"That's really not- I just didn't want to get you guys in trouble. You never hurt anyone, you were just messing around" your stomach clenches into a ball of anxious nerves, yelling at you to run, hide, anything. 

Lying just makes it even worse because you've seen them get in fights, heard Lily-Ann brag about using her BB gun on that stray dog. 

What's worse is the look Sam gives you. She isn't smiling anymore as she keeps a tight hold on you and walks straight toward the water.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd at least show you what I think of you for doing that. What I think of spineless little birds."

Like with most dangerous situations, you've waited until it's too late to work up the courage and run. When you push out of Sam's grip, her nails scrap three red lines into your skin but you ignore the sting and slam right into the trunk of one of the twins. No one could ever really tell Zach and Carter apart, and they didn't really care.

So whoever it is, they grab you by the shoulders and push you backwards hard enough that you fall ass first onto the hard riverbank, the wind leaving your lungs in a painful wheeze.

"I think Birdie here needs to learn how to stand up for herself, so lets help her!" Sam sneers down at you before reaching out to yank on the strap of your messenger bag, tugging you up before suddenly hands are dragging you back.

"Sam please, I'm sorry, I just didn't want-"

"Didn't what Birdie? Didn't wanna get your hands dirty? Christ you are a spineless litte shit!" she just laughs mirthlessly and rips your messenger bag off, tossing it into the water.

There are tears slowly leaking out and down your face by now. You're angry but you know people like Sam feed off anger. Anything you might say won't change her mind. So you tug your arms free, hearing the sharp rip of your shirt in the process, before a fist connects with your nose. It snaps your head back violently and sends you into a daze.

"What the hell Sam?! I thought we were just gonna scare her?" one of the girls says, more annoyed than concerned. 

"We are! Zach, put her in" Sam orders.

With a head full of quicksand and warm, copper tasting blood rolling over your lips, you focus on their voices. Not the tugging on your arms as one of the twins pulls you into the water and around so you can glance at the open trunk.

He tosses you in like you weigh nothing, frowning down at you with one hand on the hatch. Behind him the sky is darker, it'll rain soon. And then he slams the trunk closed hard enough to shake the whole back end of the car.

It's dark but there are holes where the weather had worn through and light seeps in. Inside here it's even hotter, the heat cloying and suffocating. You can hear them outside yelling at you, about you, and even shaking the car, pounding on the sides. 

That lasts for a while, long enough for your nose to stop bleeding and your shirt to be soaked with more sweat than water. You remain silent the entire time, waiting it out. They would let you out before the rain.

They had to, the river would rise well above the trunk.

When fat drops of rain begin to hit the metal above you, their voices fade, yelling out heartless 'goodbyes' and 'good luck getting outs.'

You're almost dumbfounded at the silence, nothing but the staccato of the ever increasing rain to keep you company. Now you begin to yell.

"Sam! Let me out! Let me out please, okay I get it! Just let me out!"

Nothing. They left you. They fucking left you.

"Sam! Maya! Lily-Ann! Saaaaaam!"

Pounding on the metal above you does nothing for the fear crawling up your sore throat. You keep at it until the first trickles of water begin to fill the trunk, until your arms ache and you're sobbing out curses.

You can count the beats of your heart it's so loud. The water is cold and fast, filling up the small space until not even the holes in the metal can provide you air.

The first gulp of water you take in relieves the burn for air but fills you like cement, stopping up your throat and lungs. You think you manage to rip off a few nails clawing at the metal tomb around you and it's the last shred of pain you feel.

The last thing you see, your vision going dark, is the slight gleam of silver shaped like a coin.

Then you open your eyes to see the road you walk home every day, bridge stretched out in front of you, the same muggy heat pressing down on you.

Dropping to your knees in the dirt, you clutch your throat and gasp in the sweetest breath of air you've ever tasted. Kneeling there in the dirt, gaping like a fish, you feel the messenger bag at your hip, no pain in your nose or blood on your face. 

Not a single drop of water on you, not even tears.

And when the tunnel vision of panic slowly recedes, you see a familiar round shape on the ground in front of you.

The coin, shiny and silver with not so much as a speck of dirt on it, stares back up at you.

Desperately you search all the pockets on your shorts, coming up empty. But you knew you put that coin in your back pocket. You also knew that you'd been locked in a trunk and left to drown.

You had drowned.

"Hey Birdie! You hear me up there? I wanna talk to you!" 

Sam's voice is like ice in your veins. It had felt so real, the scratches on your arm, the blood and the burn of drowning. You make no move to stand up, hoping maybe she'll give up. Maybe you're finally going nuts in this tiny town.

Either way, you weren't going down there. 

"I know you're up there Birdie! I saw you, just come down and swim with us before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up!"

Nope. No way. You decide you can run the rest of the way home. You snatch the coin out of the dirt, keeping it tucked in your fist, as you lurch forward into a flat out run, hoping they won't bother with chasing after you. That you weren't worth it.

You don't stop until there's a stitch in your side and even then you only slow to a jog, glancing over your shoulder every other breath. It's as your look back for the fifth time that you see a truck rumbling it's way along down the road.

It's not one you recognize, an older model, beat up and pale white with a surprisingly quiet engine. By now you've turned around to openly stare, panting, watching the truck approach, veering away from the shoulder you stand on.

The license plate reads HDS-180. Definitely no one you knew.

"You alright?"

The voice startles you, coming from the open window of the truck now stopped beside you. It seems familiar but the face of the man behind the wheel is foreign to you. He seems a few years older than you, not that you were ever a good judge of age, with deep brown eyes that watch you carefully from underneath the brim of a black, worn out ball cap. 

There's a frown curving his lips and you realize it's probably because you haven't answered him.

"I'm okay, thanks" even you don't sound convincing to your own ears but you don't move an inch.

"Are you sure?" his frown deepens, tilting his head in concern.

"Uh, yeah, well. . . it's kind of been a weird day but" you can't think of how to finish that sentence. You just want to forget what happened (or didn't happen) at the bridge.

"You need to call someone? To come get you?" he asks earnestly, putting the truck in park even as you shake your head.

"No, my mom's at work" probably not the best thing to tell a stranger.

"I saw those kids back at the bridge" he tells you seriously, nodding over his shoulder "they wouldn't happen to be the reason you were running like the Devil was at your heels would they?"

"Maybe" you sigh, too tired at this point.

"You want a ride home?"

"Depends, do you plan on killing me?" it shouldn't come out sounding like a joke but it does. 

Your mom would be so disappointed in you but the coin seems to vibrate in your hand as you reach out to grab the passenger side door handle.

"It's not on my schedule, promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a teeny tiny reference to the first Final Destination movie in the license plate. And the images on the coin were inspired by some symbols of death and Hades in history. Thanks Wikipedia.


End file.
